


keep your brittle heart warm

by caitlesshea



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Memories, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of alcoholism, booker and copley live together, booker forgets he wrote a book that happens to be copleys favorite, favorite book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:20:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25898851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitlesshea/pseuds/caitlesshea
Summary: “My favorite.”Booker nearly drops the book he had pulled off of Copley’s shelf but he saves it before the worn spine hits the ground.“Huh?”“Of all the books in here, you picked my favorite.”OrBooker forgets that he wrote a book and it happens to be Copley's favorite.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/James Copley
Comments: 36
Kudos: 261





	keep your brittle heart warm

**Author's Note:**

> For @pekoh | @knittingnicky who dropped this amazing fic idea in the server and then graciously allowed me to write it. I hope I did it justice and I hope you like it!
> 
> There are a couple of references to the movies Penelope and Definitely, Maybe, because I’m a book lover.
> 
> Again, this couple has taken over my brain. 
> 
> Zero regrets.

“My favorite.” 

Booker nearly drops the book he had pulled off of Copley’s shelf but he saves it before the worn spine hits the ground.

“Huh?”

“Of all the books in here, you picked my favorite.”

Booker looks down at the book, worn not only from age but from use. 

“I can…” Booker gestures back to the floor to ceiling shelves that are filled with books.

“No, you should read it.” 

Booker looks down at the book again, the author  _ Pierre Al Nova  _ jumping out and taking up residence in his head as something familiar. 

“I got that copy at university. Read it so much the spine started to crack.” Copley says as he takes a step closer and pulls two other books off the shelf.

“It’s a trilogy. That’s the first one.” Copley nods to the one in Booker’s hand. “It follows a man dealing with cancer who just found out he’s going to be a father. The second follows a man who’s father gets sent to war and never returns home. The last one, the father is a forger, and the son takes after him. You find out when it’s over, well, I don’t want to spoil it.” 

Copley smiles at him but Booker feels like he’s been punched in the gut, the words ringing more true than he wants to examine right now. 

“Why is this one your favorite?” 

“I wasn’t having the easier time at school, it stuck with me.” 

Booker nods and looks back at the shelf and sees more of the same book in different editions. He raises an eyebrow at Copley and Booker swears he sees Copley blushing. 

“It’s nothing.”

“James.”

Copley hands him the other two books and stands next to him, running his fingers over the spines of  _ Two Fathers.  _ There has to be at least fifteen of them, not all in English either.

“I collect them, just the first one, not the whole set, but whenever I see a different version I get it.”

“Why?”

Copley shrugs and Booker can tell he’s embarrassed but he nudges Copley’s shoulder with his own and smiles at him.

“It’s just, I lost my father to cancer right before university, and reading this, helped me cope with it. I guess collecting the copies over the years helps me remember him.”

“I’m sorry.” Booker whispers as he holds back tears thinking about his son Jean-Pierre. 

The books sit heavy in his hands, the name of the author and Copley’s summary sitting in his chest uncomfortably, like they’re familiar but he doesn’t want to remember why. 

“It’s alright. You should read them.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, they’re not the easiest to get through, but I’m sure you’ll find some of it familiar.”

“Familiar?”

“They’re by a French author and they were all published before eighteen twenty.” 

Booker opens the cover of each book and right there on the copyright pages are the years Copley said along with the original publishing city. Paris, France. 

“Did the author?”

“They’re the only three books ever published. I’ve never been able to find any information other than those books about them.”

“A pseudonym?”

“I think so, yes.”

Booker smiles at Copley as he leans closer to kiss him. Copley sinks into the kiss as Booker balances the three books in one hand and brings his other hand up to caress Copley’s face. 

“I’m going to read them.” Booker breathes out when they separate. He smiles at the pleased look on Copley’s face. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah. This one if it’s okay?” Booker holds out the worn copy, now realizing it’s wear and tear are from  _ love _ .

Copley nods and clears his throat. “He reminds me of you.”

“Who?”

“The son. The way he thinks, what he does. I didn’t realize it at the time, obviously, but now thinking about it, he definitely reminds me of you.”

Booker holds the book up to his chest as he kisses Copley again.

“I wish I had them in French.”

“You don’t?” Booker turns to look at the books on the shelf, noticing some in English and Italian, and even one Arabic translation, but no French.

“No, apparently the First Edition was in French but the author gave strict instructions to never have it reproduced in French. I’m sure they exist somewhere but I’ve never been able to find them.”

“That’s…” Booker wants to say  _ strange  _ but something stops him, especially when he realizes the languages the books have been translated into are the languages of his family. 

“It’s okay. Just a part of the mystery.” 

Booker can see the twinkle in Copley’s eyes. The curiosity. It’s one of the things he loves about him. 

The thought hits him like a ton of bricks and he sucks in a deep breath. 

“Sébastien?” Copley asks concerned as he steps closer.

“I’m fine. I’m gonna read these, even though it’s late.”

“Mmm.” Copley kisses him once. “I’m gonna head to bed. Don’t stay out here all night.”

“I won’t.”

Booker takes the three books to his favorite seat on their couch.  _ Their  _ couch. 

He sometimes can’t believe he gets to have this. Not just this home, but Copley. And with the realization earlier that he  _ does  _ love Copley, more than he ever thought possible, he settles in to read. 

Booker reads the descriptions of each book and finds Copley’s summary pretty accurate. 

_ The first one: Two Fathers - A tale of a man finding out he’s going to be a father the same day he finds out he has cancer, surviving to stay alive longer than his own father. _

_ The second one: Winter Wanderer - A tale of a man finding out his father was killed at war, surviving long enough to fight with his brothers. _

_ The third and final one: Forged Love - A tale of a man finding out his father was a forger, surviving long enough to make an honest man of himself. _

Something like guilt and sorrow sits in his gut and the familiarity of the words to his own life makes his ears ring. 

He chokes down the sob that threatens to escape as he holds the first book. With a deep breath he opens it and begins to read. 

Three chapters in and he slams the book down and tries to regulate his breathing.

How could he forget?

All of the signs were  _ right _ there. 

The author, Pierre Al Nova. 

His son's name was Jean-Pierre. 

Al was taken from Yusuf Al-Kaysani, or Joe as he’s known now. 

Nova was taken from Nicolò di Genova, or Nicky as he’s known now. 

One book for each of his sons, written in reverse. His sweet boy Jean-Pierre dying of cancer, his own death in the tundra of Russia, his other son’s death in a similar fashion, and finally his life as a forger that brought him to war, his oldest son following in his unfortunate footsteps. 

He wrote these books. He wrote them in a drunken haze, barely remembering the words on the page, definitely  _ not _ remembering he wrote them. 

He sent them to a publisher he knew when he was still forging documents, with strict instructions to never publish them in French. 

Booker puts his head in his hands. Of course Copley, this beautiful man who has chosen to share his life with Booker, would find these books, love these books, and see Booker in them. 

_ Of course _ Copley would read these tortured words, the ones Jean-Pierre said to him as he walked away and  _ see _ Booker. 

He pushes off the couch and pads to their room, pausing for a moment to look at Copley’s sleeping form, before he gently wakes him up.

“Sébastien?” Copley’s voice is thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Late.” Booker runs a hand over Copley’s head. “I have to go to Paris.”

“Did something happen?” Copley moves to turn on the light but Booker stills his hand.

“No. And I’ll be back tomorrow. There’s something I have to get.”

“I can come with you?”

“No need. I promise I’ll be back.” Booker places a kiss on Copley’s lips as Copley hums and sinks further into the bed. 

“Okay.” Copley says sleepily before he reaches out to grab Booker’s hand. “Take the car.”

“You sure?” 

Copley nods and kisses Booker’s knuckles and Booker has to stop himself from saying  _ I love you  _ like he wants to.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

**~~~**

Booker is able to catch an early morning train to Paris. He doesn’t dwell in the city that’s brought him so much love and pain, instead getting a car and driving to Marseille. It’s a long enough drive that he’s able to sort through his thoughts. 

When he finally pulls up to the house he raised his three sons in his heart clenches. He hasn’t been here in years but it still looks the same.

He trudges inside, taking a moment to let the familiarity wash over him.

He walks into his bedroom and there it is. The trunk he’s had with him almost his entire life. Filled with mementos of his mortal life. Photos of his sons and wife. The original deed to the house. 

But most importantly, the original three manuscripts for his books and all of the remaining original French editions. 

Booker doesn’t hesitate, he opens the trunk and pulls out the yellowed and worn pages, surprised they’re still intact and vaguely remembers Joe teaching him how to preserve the pages. 

He runs his fingers over the words, over the words that Copley has read and loved. 

He closes the trunk, picks it up and takes it out to the car. He locks up his house and looks at it one last time and then begins his journey  _ home.  _

**_~~~_ **

When Booker walks back into his and Copley’s house the next night his heart nearly beats out of his chest at the sight of Copley reading by the fire. 

The reading glasses are a nice touch, too.

“Hi.” Booker says quietly from the hallway and smiles as Copley turns toward him. 

Booker hefts the trunk further up in his arms as he walks to the living room. Copley raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything as Booker settles next to him on the couch, Copley easily making room for him. 

“I like the glasses.” Booker says as he kisses Copley. 

Copley smirks and Booker doesn’t want to put a stop to the thoughts currently running through both of their heads but he has to do this.

“Oh?”

“You know I do.” Booker says as he shoves lightly at Copley’s shoulder to get him to scoot back. 

Copley takes the hint and settles firmly against Booker’s side. 

“What’s that?”

“It’s a trunk.”

“Sébastien.” Copley chuckles.

“I  _ used _ to keep it at my house in Marseille.”

“Marseille?” Copley looks over at him and Booker waits for the realizations to sink in.

“This is from before?”

“Yeah.” Booker breathes out and opens the trunk. 

“Before we look through everything, there’s a reason I went to go get this.”

Booker pulls out the three books, all in French, along with the yellowed pages. He hands them over to Copley, who’s eyes have gone wide as he reads over the words. 

“How? I don’t…”

“Would you believe I was so drunk when I wrote them that I literally forgot about them until yesterday?”

“I…” Copley looks at him and Booker silently begs him to understand. “Yes.”

Booker watches as Copley runs his hands over the pages, tracing words long since written but no less true.

“So much makes sense now.” Copley laughs and Booker starts to laugh as well. 

Booker leans over and kisses Copley, who hums into the kiss. 

“I love you.” Booker breathes into Copley’s mouth. 

He can feel it when Copley’s breath catches and he smiles against his lips. 

“I love you, too, Sébastien.” 

Booker leans his forehead against Copley’s and scoots impossibly closer. 

“I’d like to tell you about them.” Booker says quietly, the only sounds he can hear are Copley’s breathing and the crackling of the fire. 

“I’d love that.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come find me on Tumblr - same username!


End file.
